Another World Cup - Different but very Similar

2011: A 26-year-old with the world exploding around him. Not good enough to have his life mapped out, no high-paying job, no love of his life, no secure future; the six that Dhoni hit represented an average guy believing in breaking barriers, imagining an India that is going to dominate the world. It was not about greatness anymore. For all the reverence to Sachin, we all knew the victory was about Sehwag's belligerence, Yuvraj's impact, Dhoni's temperament, and many more who played as a team. Gambhir, Zaheer, Sreesanth, Raina, Bhajji; everyone in the squad contributed when called upon. Oh, and there was a 22-year-old Kohli.

2023: A 38-year-old with the world just as it should be. A high-paying job, married to the love of his life, a 4-year-old daughter who can light up a bomb shelter with her innocent smile; the 2023 World Cup represents where I, and my country India, have reached in life. Favourites to win, dominating countries who basically invented the game on the field and in the boardroom (no little thanks to a behemoth called the IPL). In 2011, the Indian team was favoured and won. Since then, for 12 years, India has always managed to be favourites and stumbled before the finish line.

But now, the 35-year-old Kohli is challenging the reverence we had for Sachin; Bumrah is challenging what it means to be the best in his generation; Rohit is challenging the belligerence of Sehwag, Gayle, and Gilchrist with much better technique, and so on. We might still lose; two unpredictable winner-takes-all games are no guarantee of success. But the fact is that this team has already announced their dominance, a team of confident, bellicose individuals who believe they are the best and play accordingly. If we lose, it is going to be because the team did not play even close to their potential, or the other team played way above their potential. As the stunner that Kapil grabbed onto, or the dolly that Gibbs grassed can define a World Cup, there are still turning points waiting to happen.

But I sleep easy. In the world today, we are no longer fighting to prove our ability. It has been made self-evident, not by a one-man army named Sachin, or an unbeatable batting line-up, but by an all-round team of match winners who enjoy and accept their dominance of the sport. Is the off chance of a bad day in the semi-final or final going to take that away from us? I doubt it. Is Kohli, the Sachin equivalent, the most important player in this team? I doubt it. Reverence, India as a country, as a team has grown above it. We the fans couldn't be luckier.

The transition of Greatness! Sachin Tendulkar and Virat Kohli

Fandom is a fickle thing in sport. Especially in India. One day you are the savior of the world, and one bad performance later, they are calling for your blood. But some players manage to transcend the vagaries of fans by the sheer weight of their genius. They become living legends, revered and even worshiped. Their faults are forgotten, their inconsistencies invisible. An entire generation looks up to them as a template of genius. Like Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar.

But athletes retire. And new generations grow up. And new geniuses turn up to usurp their mantle. They show the new generation a new level of performance, more in tune with their attitudes and aspirations. They overcome the fickleness which knows no generation and by weight of ability and attitude, put their hand up to be considered a legend. Like Virat Kohli.

Comparisons will naturally arise. But objectivity is close to impossible to compare careers spanning separate decades, even with the huge amount of statistical data available. Those who have experienced the magic of Tendulkar in the 90s and 00s will be hard pressed to accept Kohli in the same light. Those who have grown up watching a fading Tendulkar replaced by the arrogance of youth in Kohli are wondering what the fuss about Tendulkar is all about.

The similarities are many, similarities shared by great players spanning the nature of sport or the time they played in. Both are born talented, have honed their skill to maximum by sheer hard work and discipline, and have the temperament to perform independent of pressure and situation. While Tendulkar along with Lara, Ponting and Gilchrist bridged the gap between Tests and ODIs with classic stroke-making, Kohli has seamlessly molded himself into a Test, ODI and T20 machine. Kohli, ABD, Smith, Williamson etc. represent the new generation of powering up and switching gears at will.

Tendulkar might not be remembered for finishing off matches scoring 10-12 runs an over regularly, for scoring 50s off 25 balls and hitting sixes at will but then, very few of his peers will be. That was just not the pace at which cricket was played in his time. A run a ball innings was good enough to win most games and doing so consistently was excellence. Flip the coin and Kohli and his peers will not be remembered for dominating a Donald-Pollock on a bouncy Durban pitch or a Gough-Caddick on a swinging Lords morning. Or a Shane Warne turning it square on the fourth day at Eden gardens. Domination then was hitting the ball on the middle of a straight bat with the bowlers spitting fire.

Both are match winners in their own right. Both have won matches single handedly for the team. While Kohli has done it under extreme pressure when the rest have failed him, Tendulkar, by the sheer weight of his ability has carried the pressure of the whole team every time he goes out to bat. 5 wickets down in a crunch game, Kohli will take the team home, but come a crunch game, reading Tendulkar’s name on the team sheet has already taken the pressure off the other batsmen. The pressure on Kohli is to finish the innings, Tendulkar carried the pressure of creating the innings for two decades. Kohli revels in the pressure, it focusses him and perks him up while Tendulkar just absorbed it within him all the time, barely giving it any notice.

Externally they are chalk and cheese. Tendulkar the perennial introvert while Kohli is the poster boy of aggression and in your face attitude. A Rolls Royce and a Ferrari. But both ensure that there is nothing that comes in the way of performance. While Kohli can bring his concentration to Yogic levels while batting, Sachin with the bat could be as aggressive as anybody. Both in their own style.

Where Tendulkar today is ahead is only in the sheer years of performance he has delivered. Kohli has the opportunity to surpass him, and has shown more than enough ability to do so. But then the new generation has never been about looking too far in the future. At the here and now, Kohli is the new great. The older great man though, has not relinquished his title. Merely allotted his successor. At least not until those who witnessed his brilliance wither and die away. 

Karvachauth – The traditions of India

I have always felt absorbed by the traditions of Hinduism. The option of picking and choosing from thousands of Gods (each one with his/her own quirks and characterizations), rituals and occasions (pick a day of the week and there will be some God you can please), idols etc. as per one’s comfort and convenience. It is such a far cry from the rigidity and lack of humor in Abrahamic religions.

Every ritual, every occasion has a story behind it. A story, not just a brief paragraph but entire storylines with plots, subplots, suspense and climax. The sheer volume of entwined story lines and characters can overwhelm the mind if collated together. But the importance of these occasions is above the storylines. Each occasion has a functional reason for existence, a moral or lesson that may be losing relevance in the modern world but is still a nice bit of info to have.

Let us take the occasion of Karvachauth for example. The origin is said to be a bonding session between the wife and her in-laws a few days before the harvest celebrations while the corresponding stories include queens turned maids and dead kings coming back to life. But let us try to find the underlying reason for ladies fasting all day for the well-being of their husbands.

Let us consider the habits and lifestyle of the well to do upper class ladies of the olden days. With servants to do the hard labor and luxuries aplenty to indulge in, these ladies would have had a life lacking in exercise or exertion. Customs those days would not have been too conducive to married ladies hiking across the country or hiring personal trainers for aerobic sessions. Thus they would have consistently increased in weight and correspondingly decreased in health after marriage. If with all equipment, medicines and infinite dieting plans, the wives in modern India barely manage to maintain weight, we should not be expecting too much from ancient ladies.

We can safely suppose that whatever be the era or the environment, the basic tenets of a woman’s thinking have not undergone any change. Thus reactions, especially illogical and emotion driven ones can be expected to be the same. So coming back to the ladies of ancient India, they cannot be realistically expected to be too happy with their husbands telling them to eat less, or exercise more or that they have become fat. The relation between a woman’s mood and what she sees in the mirror must have been just as complex then as it is today. Imagine the powerful landlord coming home after a long day and having to listen to the whole “aap mujhse ab pyaar nahi karte” symphony.

Men being men would have given up pretty quickly and started searching for alternate solutions to this problem. The way to get a woman to do something without taking offence can be broken down into a few key points – Display of love, integration into their beliefs and loads of attention. Thus some brilliant person (helped that most brilliant people of that era were priests or saints) designed the perfect ritual (dieting plan) for the homely wife – fasting for the well-being of the husband (display of love), done to please the Gods (integration into beliefs) and garner attention (the husband has to be back home in time with the moon).

Now this is something a lady can happily execute, integrate it with their festivals and occasions, convert it to group bonding (or bitching) sessions, go shopping and get all decked up, and all for the betterment of their husband.

The men are just as happy. Their wives have had a day of fasting, of a little less calories and a little more exercise and they are happy about it also.

Thus the story of Karvachauth. Happy Karwachauth. It remains just as relevant even today!

A note of Thanks - MS Dhoni

Dear Indian Fan,

Firstly, thank you for the tremendous support that all of you have shown me and the team. Such strong support has been unprecedented for any losing captain. It was well worth the few tears I shed that memorable day.

Now I am back at home in Ranchi. Things remain the same but they have changed too.

Oh, my sweet little daughter. So innocent and pure. One day she will know that while she was taking in her first sights, her papa was just one “batsman who can handle a little pressure” short of reaching a World cup final. I must admit I am a little worried of her growing up and finding out about the “Media”, be it social, anti-social, mass, niche or whatever.

My wife has completely refused to come to any match that I play in from now on unless I give an absolute guarantee I will not get out. Explaining to her that I am no Kohli and am allowed to fail once in a while with the bat has not helped. She has been spending too much time on twitter I guess. Must be the pregnancy. Anyways it’s a good decision on her part. My little daughter might be saved from a few bad habits.

My three dogs that used to bite and bark at me whether I win or lose have mellowed down. It seems they have sensed that India can be a dangerous place for dogs that bark for no rhyme or reason, especially on TV. Some dogs do listen to public opinion it seems.

My father-in-law wants to know when I will retire. When I asked him what he would prefer, he was silent. He is a true cricket fan, will wait for the announcement to support the exact opposite. I tried telling him that I am only 33 but he made it sound like I am 55.

My mechanic is sure that I would have won India the match if I had not gotten run-out. But then, he is also sure that Kohli’s problem is his girlfriend and Raina’s problem is the lack of a girlfriend. Go figure.

It’s such a relief to be around my bikes. Luckily for my security detail I live in Ranchi. Here their Bajaj Pulsars can keep up with my Harleys due to the condition of the roads. Life is a great leveler.

That’s all folks. I shall post a tweet or two soon just to make sure the fire keeps burning.

Thank you once again.   

It was the best of times....

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way”

Charles Dickens

Tale of Two Cities

Charles Dickens may be a century too old to be really relevant today but some things never change. The story of love between two cities. My story is somewhat the same, not in the violence and intrigue of the French Revolution but in the heartbreak and the joy, in the tensions and the anticipations. But the story can wait for another day. Let me just share with you one small but mesmerizing snippet.

We met in Delhi, doing our MBA together. Me, from the backwaters of Kerala; she, from the hills of Uttar Pradesh. Why and when I fell in love can barely be put in words, let me tell you all how I proposed. Here goes.

We had just arrived in Bangalore for our internships, a place where I grew up and the place I consider home base. All my good friends live there and we have been together a long time. I had been there for two days now and they were already fully briefed and very shocked that I had finally taken a girl seriously enough to put in any sort of effort. She was in Bangalore for the first time and had not yet met my friends. They were dying to meet her too.

It was Valentines Day in two days and I was worried about creating an impression. There is this amazingly beautiful hilltop called Skandagiri, a one hour ride from Bangalore and easily Bangalore’s best spot to watch the sun rise. On a beautiful day, one can see the sun rise up through the clouds forming a carpet below the hilltop. For some beautiful minutes, the clouds are no longer in the sky but form an endless ocean of white below our eye-level. We can see the sun pop out through these clouds as the sky slowly begins to light up in shades of orange and red. A sight worth the two hour trek in the dark through narrow steep paths needed to get there.

So we made a plan for my first real Valentines Day proposal. Our key USPs as we saw it was that Bangalore was a new experience for her. Also the fact that she does not recognize my friends would make the plan much easier to execute. I promised to take her to the most beautiful place in Bangalore to watch the sunrise. I told her that my friends would not be able to make it and would join us later. I did, in passing mention the 6km climb but didn’t really push the point. I did tell her to wear trekking shoes though. She never says no.

The day before was spent in shopping and putting the plan in place. All credit to my sweetheart girl friends who hand held me through the process of selecting the right weapons to take to this battle of life. Gifts and fancy items seem Greek and Latin to me.

It was a normal cold Bangalore night when I picked her up for the ride to Skandagiri. My friends had planned to leave a little after us and overtake our bike along the way. We did consider some light hearted banter when they crossed us to spice up the occasion but we decided on playing it safe unless we give the game away. It was a long cold but adrenalin filled ride in the cold, covered from head to toe in wool. Falling ill would really not do. When my friends passed us halfway through the ride without even a backward glance, I knew the plan would work.

We reached the base of the hill at around 3.30 AM and had two hours to get up the hill in time for sunrise. It is a steep and somewhat dangerous climb using flashlights but we were not the only ones there. The narrow pathways had numerous groups, gangs like my friends as well as couples like us. Almost two hours later, we were at the top, all tired and warmed up in the chilly air. Like so many others we were now waiting for sunrise with hot tea, steaming Maggi and my sometimes terrible jokes for company. She was pretty tired already. I was counting on her being tired so as not to recognize any of my friends by mistake from their photos. I felt she almost looked like a lamb going to slaughter. Not the best analogy I know.

While she was resting, I was texting and coordinating with my friends. The whole plan had to be set in motion as soon as the sun rises. It helped that we had been here numerous times and knew the place well.

Soon the sky started showing the first rays of light. It was indeed a beautiful day, one as beautiful as any I had seen. I led her to the most beautiful spot on the hill, one from where the clouds could be seen in three directions stretching out to the horizon. Rays of light were shining through from the east reflecting off the clouds in myriad shades of gold. She was already mesmerized and could not stop staring except for the odd photograph. I led her to another spot, a kind of secluded corner of the hill with just as good a view. Here there were huge concrete slabs, kept there like some modern day Stonehenge where groups could pose and click awesome pictures with the amazing sunrise as the background. In the middle was one huge flat slab, kind of like a table at the corner of the hill. I slowly led her to it, distracting her with the view and inane chit chat. On it was kept her Valentines Day presents, a small shining ring decorated with bouquets and chocolates and a small note with her name and three words on it. I had spent some real effort on the calligraphy. Taking her right next to it, I showed it to her and she was shocked. She literally started competing with the sun on who could be redder.

And the timing was perfect. The day had begun to shine bright as she checked out her surprise smiling and blushing like a kid. I was waiting for her to finish thinking “Damn, I love her” and “Wow, I actually managed to get this done”. As she came back to me giving me a long hug, with a huge grin and moist eyes, I knew it had all worked out.

But I was not done yet. I asked her to come with me and check out the place further. On every pole was painted a heart with her name in it and a rose stuck on it. I had some good artists among my friends. She once again was really impressed but this time she asked the right question.

“Who did all this?”

That was my cue to shout “Guys!!” and all my friends who were roaming about pretending to be nobody came bounding in. They were just as pleased as I was with the success of the whole plan. She really was floored and could barely utter a word when all my friends started congratulating and pestering her. She did manage to say “No more surprises please”.

It was an unforgettable day. She will vouch for it. Long lens cameras had ensured that every moment was captured for the future. We spent the rest of the day clicking photos and roaming around as she came to know my friends.

We did not speak much that day, but then we had decided we have our whole lives in front of us to do that.

And we knew that life would be so much less fun without some real good friends in it.


Written for Close-Up Cupid Games 2015
http://cupidgames.closeup.in/.

Life is a dump!

Waking up in the morning today, I was royally pissed off. I landed my feet directly on yesterday’s leftover pizza. Well not the pizza exactly, that was well digested by then, but the half empty ketchup sachets and plastic wraps. Irritated, I pick them up and throw them out of the back window cursing myself for not doing so last night when the neighbors were sleeping. But that’s okay. They had given up on me long ago.

In fact the dump behind my house is a mystery in itself. Other than the belief that gravity will bring down anything I throw it that general direction, I have no clue what or who is across the wall. But no more about the dump. The pizza has made me hungry. Breakfast involves shifting through a forest of empty, semi empty and non empty packets or cups of food and drinks. The oldest at the back (some have started decomposing and becoming a part of the fridge like those dead sailors in Pirates of the Caribbean) and the latest in the front. In my fridge it does not matter if the cup is half empty or half full, it only matters if it’s drinkable or not.

So I find some bread, cheese and some soft drinks that have become too soft with age and I am ready to get ready for office. As I have time, I thought I’ll clear the fridge a little. Looks pretty challenging. But I get it done and now I have my kitchen floor looking like a veritable dump. I am pretty sure the dump I was talking about would not be much different. Okay so I have to clear this now. I shove everything into some huge polythene covers and wonder where to put them. They are a little too big to throw out of the window. And I am absolutely positive I will not be carrying them anywhere near the designated garbage bins in our area. In fact I don’t believe anybody but cows and dogs use them anyway.

So I thought, let me just go down around and behind my flat and throw it over the wall from there. All that hard work and I've decided to anyway take a peep over the wall. How bad can it be? So I throw the bags over the wall and climb on a railing to take a peek.

And what do I see. There is an small colony of people living (living is really not the right word) in a narrow channel between two apartments. The walls hide them from whoever might evacuate them and they have built themselves small tents between mounds of garbage thrown from the apartments. No I was not the only one, it was a dump for half the people staying there. These people had to suffer litter thrown at them all times of day, their kids running around and playing in stuff animals would barely suffer.

And almost all the refuse there is plastic. They cannot even discreetly burn away the garbage without the apartments coming to know about it.

Do they have any choice? If they are noticed, they will be blamed for their lack of hygiene, as a health hazard to the rich and pampered throwers of waste over walls and will have nowhere to live. Those who have made the place dirty will never be held responsible, it will be those who try to string a miserable life together in the dump that shall be punished.

So much for the peep. While one part of me is relieved to be among the rich and pampered throwers of waste over walls, another part has just got a rude awakening. The dump had from being an unknown drop point for all the crap I generate had just turned up as a symbol for all the trials and travesties of human life.

I refuse to preach before I practice. I need a new place to dump my waste. 

Written for "The Great Indian Litterbug"
by Times Of India - http://greatindian.timesofindia.com/

I hate Pimples!

Always wanted to write something putting myself in a girls designer shoes. This is me thinking like a girl, trying to be as real as I can make it, watering down my multiple perceptions on how impossible they really can be. As you all know, they are not supposed to be understood....
Here goes.


It was a normal day’s morning. I woke up late, my hair was as much of a mess as ever and I was sure to be late for office. Had slept late and so my head felt groggy. It took me two peeks at the mirror to notice it.

Have you even seen one of those optical illusions where you notice nothing at first but then once you see it, it stands out and seems to be jumping into your eyes. Well it was the same feeling. But this was no image, it was my own reflection and the thing jumping out at me was my biggest fear, my most hated disease; a big, red, juicy, throbbing PIMPLE!

In one second, in the mirror, my whole life flashed in front of me. I have had just three pimples before this, but all of them were just as big and bad and all seem to come up only on my forehead, standing out like flashing red lights on white ambassador cars. The first time, I did not worry too much until my friends started staring at me as I I just grew a pair of horns. I was just in high school and my girl pack spent the next twenty minutes telling stories of their aunts or neighbors with pockmarked faces who never get a second glance. I had nightmares that day though mom told me it was normal.

That experience scarred me for life. That along with other girls my age who were just as terror struck. “I just broke a pimple”, “I got two together, twoooo!”, “that mark is still visible, will it ever go??” were call signs to days of chronic depression and zero self esteem. The other two times I had a pimple before, my support systems used to be cosmetics, skin creams and hours of shedding tears in front of the mirror. It did not matter if they covered the pimples, they were there to cover my torn self esteem.

But now I am a little grown up. At least I like to think that way. I do not have the time to spend hours crying in front of the mirror. I have half an hour to drag my sorry face to office and I cannot spend it crying. Though I can feel my eyes welling up, I also have to make my hair and select my clothes. Do I not have a single suit that matches with a big red pimple? I could so easily sit here and cry.

But as I said, I have grown up a little. Having a pimple and a job seemed better than having a pimple and no job. So a little makeup, a regular red suit and off I was to office. I was late anyway so I took the time to go to the shop nearby and buy myself a new face-wash. My old face-wash had cheated me, betrayed my trust and given me a pimple; I shall never touch it ever again. Seeing myself in the shop mirror depressed me again but the cosmetics and face-wash section got my spirits up again. One thing a girl never loses confidence in is cosmetics and beauty care products. If one fails, there is always another, with an even more perfect celebrity endorsing it. And they do work, no matter every guy gets a shock seeing my collection of beauty products. Some work better than others.

Mom used to tell me, just make sure your face is clean and not oily. So I keep washing my face. I just bought myself a new face-wash, and that’s something I can use all day. It stays in my handbag and I make sure that every time I walk into a ladies room, I give my face a gentle cleansing. It refreshes my face and my confidence. I work hard all day, at least my face gets its share of freshness. The pimple doesn't bother me as much now that I know I am treating it well.

It will be gone in a few days, and I shall once have more time to select the perfect suit and put on the perfect eyeliner without my eyes welling up. And I intend to make sure it never comes back. My new face-wash is going to be my personal bodyguard against it happening ever again. I feel so much better already.



Written for Garnier.
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